


My Beloved

by Pyracantha



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Extensive Abuse of Song of Songs, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Intercrural Sex, M/M, Witchfinder Major Milkbottle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27238888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyracantha/pseuds/Pyracantha
Summary: Mornings are beautiful in the South Downs.~*~*~- GO Events Server - NTA #9 - Prompt Milkbottle
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37
Collections: GO-events NTA #9 - Milkbottle After Dark





	My Beloved

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! This is my little bit for the GO Events Server NTA #9 - Milkbottle After Dark! This was such an interesting prompt!! Thanks to Moon for running this one! It was so cool to see how everyone interpreted it! 
> 
> I'm a sucker for Song of Songs and I bet Aziraphale just has it running though his head a lot of the time. I think he's constantly stunned by the beauty that is Crowley in love. I hope you enjoy!

He wanders into the kitchen sleep drunk and beautiful. 

“M’ng angel” he slurs as he fumbles around for his coffee.

He sighs as a warm mug is pressed into his hands. Reaching out Aziraphale tucks an errant curl behind his ear.

_Behold, you are beautiful, my beloved_

“Good morning beautiful” he says.

Crowley hears the smile in it. He cracks an eye open and yes, all that angelic wattage is turned his way. He smiles, a sleepy little hopelessly in love smile and leans down to kiss him.

_His mouth is sweetness;_

_yes, he is altogether lovely._

Crowley sets down his mug to cup Aziraphale’s face turning him to deepen the kiss. He keeps his eyes open. Crowley marvels at the way his angel loses himself to this. 

_Let me see your face._

_Let me hear your voice;_

_for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely._

Their kisses turn hungry. Hands pulling at clothes, happy for the chosen dressing gowns instead of more difficult clothing. 

_Your lips, my bride, drip like the honeycomb._

_Honey and milk are under your tongue._

Hands find the hardness they seek. Velvet softness and aching need. They slide together, pearlescent beads slicking the groove of their hips as they move together. 

_Let my beloved come into his garden,_

_and taste his precious fruits._

“Ah Angel I need you.” Crowley moans into Aziraphale’s ear. “Please.” His words are ragged with want.

Aziraphale turns and sweeps the kitchen table clear. He lays Crowley on the table, cock jutting up proudly. The angel touches him and finds him open and slick. With a moan he buries himself in Crowley in one long thrust. He leans forward and licks into Crowley’s mouth. 

_I am my beloved's._

_His desire is toward me._

Crowley meets his thrust, wrapping his legs around the angel’s back pulling him in, driving him in deeper. His cock surrounded by the angel’s soft belly. 

They rock together, urgent and greedy. 

“Darling I’m so close.” 

“Sweetheart. Yes.” 

Crowley groans and succumbs to the tight heat between them. Aziraphale feels the clench of orgasm and lets himself go. They float for a moment, delight in each other plain on their faces. 

_My dove, my perfect one, is unique._

_beautiful as the moon,_

_clear as the sun_

Aziraphale pauses remembering the sounds of things shattering, clanking, rolling off into dark corners.

“Darling I think we may need a new milkbottle.” 

Crowley’s eyes light with mischief at a memory.

“Well at least we can say this one’s fallen in a better line of duty.”

Aziraphale’s laugh rings out and he presses his head to Crowley’s chest.

_Many waters can’t quench love, neither can floods drown it._

Aziraphale cleans them up and they set about restoring the kitchen to rights. Hands like birds fluttering, little touches, small and fleeting. Forever in each other’s orbit, bound in love.

_Set me as a seal on your heart, as a seal on your arm; for love is strong as death._


End file.
